


Landscapes

by jinnora (nonbeenarys)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: M/M, Zuko is an awkward turtle duck, art hoes here u go, he was roped into this against his will, lots of explicit language, nsfw for kissing, sokka is just trying his best, they are GAYYYY, ur going to eat well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbeenarys/pseuds/jinnora
Summary: Firelord Zuko has been teaching his Southern Water Tribe Ambassador, Sokka, landscape painting.  Despite Zuko's efforts, Sokka hasn't improved much, and Zuko figures out why.  Featuring counterchange, jokes about knives, and Zuko being desperately attracted to Sokka.Inspired bythistumblr post
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 266





	Landscapes

When he was younger, Zuko’s favorite part of the Fire Nation palace had been the turtleduck pond. All of the hard, exact edges of the palace’s architecture were nowhere to be found in the curving shorelines and uneven grass blades of the pond. It felt like an oasis of sorts, something so recklessly alive amongst the deathly precision of the rest of Zuko’s homeland, somewhere that embodied the freedom to grow and love that he desired to have. He had dreamt of being equally determined to endure.

Now, as the Fire Lord, that pond took second place. It wasn’t that he had lost love for it; the sounds of the animals alone were enough for him to be absorbed by fond memories of times he spent there with his mother. It was simply that, by some stroke of luck, the reforms he was making were working: people in the Fire Nation were smiling, making enough money to buy local produce, no longer afraid to live their lives. That, in combination with the fact he always had something to do, Zuko no longer had the same desperation for life. Now it was peace and quiet he needed.

Where he had found it was the balcony that stretched out from his bedroom. It provided a sweeping view of Capital City, whose chatters that were distant enough to be calming rather than intrusive. Due to the balcony’s height and its secluded nature, Zuko could look past the wall separating him from his people, connecting him to them without needing to be their Fire Lord for that moment.

It had become such a special place to him—a place to think, to be alone, to cry, to be afraid, to breathe—he had yet to allow another person onto it.

So, in retrospect, Zuko should have realized what he was doing when inviting Sokka to the balcony.

To be fair, it wasn’t like Zuko had no reason for doing so: he was a few months into teaching Sokka how to paint and was continuing to show Sokka how to depict landscapes; Sokka had asked to start there, due to previous experience with Piando. It wasn’t Zuko’s fault that he just happened to have the perfect view of the Fire Nation tucked into his back pocket. It also wasn’t Zuko’s fault that he was unquestionably attracted to Sokka and, after getting adjusted to his feelings, finally could be with Sokka alone in personal places without getting so flustered he was rendered wordless.

However, he was at fault from Sokka’s unaware perspective: “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this balcony from me,” Sokka pouted as they walked towards Zuko’s bedroom, crossing through courtyards and pathways, blooming and bright with the first touches of spring. “Five years of me living here and four months of landscape painting and, somehow, you never thought about this until now?”

Zuko laughed. Making this seem casual was safer; if he didn’t, Zuko would either have to declare his feelings for Sokka or openly expose how much the spot meant to him. Of course, the first option was not really one. And, as for the second, the garden they were crossing through wasn’t a safe place to bear his soul—there were palace guards everywhere and guests and royal advisors—and share how much that seemingly unimportant space meant to him, even if it was Sokka he was giving that information to.

So he decided to reply with humor: “Hey, you can’t expect too much brain power from me. You’re the smart one, remember?”

Sokka turned his head towards Zuko; he was grinning. “What does that make you?”

“The artist, of course.”

Sokka burst out into laughter. It was full and bright and, despite him having stayed in the palace as the Southern Water Tribe’s ambassador for six months by then, still shocked Zuko in the best kind of way.

“If you’re such an established artist,” Sokka said, smile still set on his face, “then where’s your gallery? Hm? Where can I view your revolutionary and awe-inspiring portfolio?”

Even though Zuko knew Sokka was joking by his tone, he couldn’t stop the heat that spread on his cheeks at the compliment. “Uh...most of it is up in my room? I can show you, if you’d like, but I know you were probably joking—”

“I was,” Sokka assured. His thinking face was on, sharp jaw set in an unbelievably captivating manner. “But I’m not anymore.”

“Cool.”

Zuko knew it wasn’t the right answer; however, when no other words felt adequate, at least responding with something so laid-back would decrease the chance that Sokka would catch onto Zuko’s crush. That was until a few minutes later, when Sokka still hadn’t said anything in response. They continued the rest of their walk in silence; Zuko spared some chance glances over at Sokka who, despite his sudden quietness, was still carrying a sunny disposition across his bright eyes and upturned lips.

Regardless, Zuko wanted to kick himself for the comment.

The walk felt eternal, but somehow, Zuko and Sokka reached Zuko’s bedroom door without Zuko’s nerves causing him to accidentally singe the hem of his robe sleeves. The guards bowed at his sight, parting to give him access to the door. It was so natural, Zuko hadn’t even realized something was wrong until—

“Zuko!” Sokka yelled. Zuko whipped his body around, finding Sokka standing with four blades surrounding him at a circular angle, his face quite calm despite it. “Apparently they need verbal confirmation. So if you can do that—”

“Oh shit. Yeah, sorry. Men, this is our Southern Water Tribe Ambassador, Sokka, who I have invited to take company with me in my, uh, bedroom.”

It sounded so much worse, so much more vulgar than what the blank canvases hung under Sokka’s arm and easel in Zuko’s hand suggested; Zuko swore he heard a few chuckles from his guards as they lowered their weapons. To decrease his chance of accidentally setting from embarassment, Zuko turned around immediately after his guards’ weapons began lowering, hoping no one could catch his blush.

Sokka took a more direct approach: “We’re painting,” he demanded, but the sounds of affirmation made by his guards still sounded mocking.

Once inside, Zuko went to sit on his bed, which gave him the ability to look at Sokka’s whole body as he slotted through the door. He was wearing a sleeveless robe that day, making Zuko all too aware of the muscles his arms had gained from swordfighting, especially the ones that were pressing against his torso to keep the canvases under his right arm from falling. It made Zuko’s throat dry.

“Sorry about that,” Zuko choked out. “I don’t, uh, have many people up here. I tend to forget the protocol.”

“What about Mai?” Sokka made his way towards Zuko’s bed, asking another question, “Can I sit here?” before Zuko had even answered his first one. Zuko nodded and Sokka plopped himself down. Even though his bed was made, his sheets clean, it still felt recklessly intimate. If they weren’t careful, Zuko’s right shoulder would brush against Sokka’s left. Zuko had to look away.

“She’s been here once, maybe twice, but over the years we’ve mostly hung out in the study since we broke up so soon after the war ended. We’re both pretty private. I don’t think I’ve ever been in her bedroom before...”

“I bet there knives hung on every square inch of her walls,” Sokka said. Zuko could feel Sokka’s body shake nervously in response to his own idea.

“You know she’s not evil, right?”

“Yeah, of course. She’s really cool. She just has a lot of knives, and I doubt storing them in a drawer would be useful, so hanging them makes sense. But that’s scary to me. All of those blades? No thank you.”

Zuko had to look at him after that comment. “Sokka,” he responded dryly, “you cannot be serious. You literally have a sword slung around your back right now.”

“Yeah,”—Sokka was kicking his feet against the bed frame and Zuko had to look away since it was that cute— “but like, here’s the thing: I can control when and how my sword moves. But let’s say there’s an earthquake; there’s no way Mai can protect herself from all of her knives flying off of her walls at the same time.”

“So you’re basing your fear of Mai’s room off of multiple hypotheticals and the occurrence of a natural disaster that is most likely to happen in the Earth Kingdom, not here?”

“Yup.”

Zuko laughed with his whole body. “You know, for being the smart one, you really are an idiot sometimes.”

“Well for being the artistic one, I don’t see any of your work hung up on your walls.”

Still laughing, Zuko hopped off of his bed and headed towards a closet. “That’s because they’re hidden, Sokka.” After sliding the door open, Zuko scanned the top shelf, barely able to find the black, lidded box he had hid in its left corner. He grabbed it carefully before returning to the bed, setting the box where he had previously been sitting.

“Remember, these are just little paintings I did for fun—”

“I didn’t think you could have fun.”

Zuko scowled at Sokka who smirked back at him. “As I was saying, these are just little projects I did for no reason, so don’t expect them to be the best art you’ve ever seen.”

Despite how much he had just talked them down, Zuko realized that he was handling his paintings too carefully to expect Sokka to believe his words. He risked a look towards Sokka; nothing on his face signaled that he had caught on to Zuko’s feigned indifference, but Zuko knew that Sokka was just as good at hiding his knowledge as he was at piecing together the clues that supplied it.

“Okay,” Zuko said, spreading out the paintings on his bed. “Again, they’re nothing special—”

“What do you mean?” Sokka yelled. He had adjusted the way he was sitting so he was kneeling into the mattress for what Zuko assumed was a fuller look at his art. This meant his arms were free to gesture at the paintings, which he did with earnest as he shouted, “These are amazing! Especially that one of the gardens with the turtleduck pond—how did you get the lighting on the tree to look so realistic?”

Not emotionally ready to accept the compliment, Zuko focused on answering the question. “It’s what I was teaching you a few days ago about counterchange, when the shading of the same object changes due to alterations in the darkness of its background.”

“Ah. It makes a lot more sense when you see it in action.” For the first time since Zuko’s paintings were revealed, Sokka looked at Zuko, allowing him to notice just how wide Sokka’s eyes were from discovery. “Can you bring some of these out as I practice? I think it might help me figure out how to take what you tell me and put it onto the page.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

Zuko chose a few that focused on lighting—including Sokka’s favorite, of course—and headed towards the balcony. “Come on,” he said, looking behind himself just in time to see Sokka eagerly jump off of his bed. Zuko tried to not let Sokka’s excitement direct his mind towards impossible scenarios, where Sokka got excited to be around Zuko for the same reasons Zuko got excited to be around Sokka.

Zuko had spent so long hoping their time next to one another would turn into their time intertwined. Like the times they were sparring and Sokka had won, pinning Zuko down to the ground, and all Zuko wanted was for Sokka to lean down and close the gap between their panting mouths. Or when their late night arguments on policy left Sokka so frustrated with him, Zuko had wished he had found the courage to dare Sokka to back him against a wall and just go to town, take out all that anger with his body.

As he stepped out onto the balcony, Zuko let the gust of fresh air cleanse his thoughts, lowering his heart rate and other things that rose in response to those ideas.

Zuko could feel Sokka’s presence when he joined him on the balcony; Sokka carried an incredible warmth with him that Zuko could not ignore.

“Wow, this is a beautiful view,” Sokka said.

Zuko turned his head, looking at Sokka fully. “Yeah, it is.”

Probably sensing Zuko’s gaze, Sokka turned to look back at Zuko, their eyes meeting. For a moment, Zuko forgot where he was and why he was there. All he could think about was the fact that, if he leaned in just slightly, and titled his head just so, he could press his lips to Sokka’s.

In a voice lower than normal, Sokka asked, “Is this your way of telling me that it’s time to start self-portraits?”

Embarrassed by the fact that Sokka had pieced together their exchange, Zuko looked away. He felt heat rise from the base of his neck all the way up to his cheeks. Trying to brush it off as the joke Sokka presented it as, Zuko attempted a casual chuckle, but the sound was still aggravatingly nerve-wracked. “I think you should, uh, keep focusing on landscapes. Drawing people is a whole different thing.”

“Fine. But once I’m better, you’re teaching me what is it… people drawing—”

“Figure drawing, smart one.”

“Figure drawing, yeah. You’re going to teach me that. Promise?”

Zuko looked back at Sokka. “Promise,” he smiled. “Now let’s get to work.”

Together, they set up a small work station: an easel propped up with a canvas atop it, a chair nearby for Sokka and one further away for Zuko, and a table for paint and brushes. Sokka sat down in front of the easel; Zuko stood behind him, preferring it to the chair set to the side.

Sokka leaned backwards in his chair, so that his head was upside down while looking at Zuko and asking, “Do I still have to call you Sifu?”

“Yes, young pupil.” Zuko mocked in a voice much deeper than his true one.

Sokka frowned. “I’m not that much younger than you.”

“‘I’m not that much younger than you, Sifu Zuko.’” Zuko corrected. Sokka made some small sound of disapproval, then rose his body back in front of the easel, picking up a brush as he went. He dipped it into the blue paint and began on the skyline.

For a while, it was quiet, except for Zuko’s occasional comment on Sokka’s technique. There was something inevitably calming about this for Zuko; after years of learning firebending—and then being neglected training—from a father who expected perfection without practice, Zuko’s choice to teach with gentle encouragement was one he consciously made as to break that cycle.

Despite the intensity of this conviction, Zuko couldn’t help noticing how little Sokka had improved throughout the past months. Zuko had assumed that art was just something more naturally difficult for Sokka; it is only fair, Zuko had decided, since everything else comes so easily to him. That, paired with how often they pulled one another off track, meant Zuko had never been inclined to mention the slowness of Sokka’s improvement.

These ideas allowed him to remain encouraging, even though Zuko wanted to blame himself for not being a good enough teacher.

“Wait a second,” he said from behind Sokka. “To make the clouds seem more realistic, you want to hold your brush at a slightly different angle. Here—”

Zuko reached his hand out towards Sokka’s. He wrapped a few of his fingers around the paintbrush Sokka held, nudging it down Sokka’s grip. As he finished pushing the edge of it downwards, Zuko’s fingers met Sokka’s, causing Zuko’s cheeks to warm—he was extremely thankful for being positioned behind Sokka because of it. For the sake of his heartbeat, he let go.

Suddenly, the paintbrush was tumbling to the ground. Zuko watched it clatter onto the stone.

“Are you okay, Sokka?” he immediately asked.

“Yeah, uh...I thought you had it.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

Sokka started leaning over, but Zuko stopped it with a firm, “No.” He twisted in Zuko’s direction when lifting himself back up, the confusion on his face clear. “Let me. Then I can, um, show you how to hold it.”

He stepped over and leaned down, grabbing the paintbrush for Sokka. “It’s like this,” Zuko said, making his tone as gentle as possible as he demonstrated the grip, not wanting Sokka to think he was showing off.

It was difficult to focus while feeling Sokka’s gaze so intensely on his hand.

“Here,” Zuko said, passing it to Sokka. “You try.”

Though Zuko wanted more contact, it was probably better for Zuko’s health that their fingers didn’t touch at all during the exchange.

He observed Sokka’s fingers—desperately shutting out all inappropriate thoughts about how thick they were, how strong they had gotten from gripping his sword—as they attempted to copy the shape of Zuko’s. They kept getting it almost correct, but then missing slightly. Sokka’s fingers were either too high up, too tight in their grip, not tight enough. Zuko was just about to give a piece of advice when Sokka grumbled, “Can you stop watching me, please? It’s making me nervous.”

“Oh, yeah,” Zuko said, quickly spinning all the way around so his back was to Sokka, saving Zuko’s blush from being seen.

Sokka chuckled from behind him. “You could have just turned your head the other way, Sifu Drama Queen.”

“Just keep focusing, Pupil Sokka,” Zuko murmured.

After a few moments of Zuko definitely not thinking about Sokka’s strong fingers, Sokka said, “Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

Relieved, Zuko turned around, until he realized Sokka was still holding it wrong.

Zuko frowned. “Actually, uh, it’s not quite right. You’re closer, though.” Sokka’s lack of response made Zuko’s heart sink. “Here, let me grab a brush, and I’ll show you at the same time you create the shape.”

After picking up a brush from the table, Zuko stood behind Sokka again, trying to position himself so their arms lined up as evenly as possible. Despite the innocent intention, this left him speaking into Sokka’s neck—something he had always wanted to do— as he said, “Just try and match it.”

“Okay,” Sokka said with uncertainty. Zuko could have sworn he saw Sokka tremble a bit.

But it was easy to ignore when Sokka finally got the brush in the correct position, a large grin spreading across Zuko’s face. “Perfect,” he said. Automatically, Sokka’s hand dropped, and he lost it again.

Sokka grunted in frustration. He lowered his arm altogether, accepting a failure that Zuko was not ready to succumb to. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” Zuko said, trying to make his voice replicate the soft encouragement of Uncle Iroh’s. He stood up, moving towards Sokka’s side. “It’s a hard position to get right. Even though…”

Sokka turned his head to the side. “Even though what?” he asked.

Shit. “Even though, uh, you’re pretty experienced, just like from having lessons for um, four months now? But everyone has things that are just harder for them, so don’t worry—”

“It’s not exactly my fault I haven’t improved much,” Sokka spat, whipping his head around to look at Zuko, his eyes narrow and focused.

“Oh,” Zuko frowned. “I’m sorry. You know I’m always up for suggestions if what I’m saying isn’t helping you. I should have figured it was my fault, not being a good enough teacher—”

“—No Zuko, it’s not—”

“—It’s okay, I can take the truth—”

“Then listen to it,” Sokka demanded. “It’s not that I’m having a hard time learning because you’re a bad teacher. You’re a great teacher—amazing, in fact! It’s because you keep...you’re touching my hand, and breathing into my neck...it’s pretty fucking distracting, Sifu.”

“Wait,” Zuko said, holding both his hands in front of him, the paintbrush still between two of his fingers. “You can’t possibly think I’m distracting.”

“Yes, I do,” Sokka pouted while crossing his arms atop his chest.

“That can’t be it because, Sokka, you’re the distracting one. You’ve distracted me since I met you.”

Sokka sprang out of his chair. “You’re”—he jabbed his right pointer finger into Zuko’s chest—“not being serious! You’re the Fire Lord! There’s absolutely no way you think I’m all that—”

“Sokka,” Zuko smiled at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Sokka’s face twisted: it was the look he gave when he was making a plan. “You’re not kidding about having feelings.”

“What gave it away?” Zuko smirked. Sokka blushed brightly, the fingers that weren’t pressing into Zuko’s chest wrapping around the back of Sokka’s neck nervously. The tip of his paintbrush, still in his hand and wet with white paint, poked out near his ear.

“You can, you know,” Sokka began, voice uneven, “kiss me, I mean.”

For a second time that day, Zuko let a paintbrush fall to the ground. He took a small step forwards; it wasn’t enough for their bodies to be flush against one another, but it did cause Sokka’s right hand to be flattened against Zuko’s chest, making Zuko wonder if Sokka could feel the swooping of his heart through his palm. Zuko lifted his right hand to cup Sokka’s cheek, making Sokka immediately lower his chin, exposing how eager he was to move into Zuko.

“Not very patient,” Zuko teased, despite the fact he had been aching to kiss Sokka since they were sitting on his bed together.

“Been waiting for this forever,” Sokka groaned. He tugged harshly on Zuko’s shirt, and yeah, with Sokka’s voice sounding like that, there wasn’t time for patience any more.

Zuko grabbed Sokka’s hip and finally stepped close enough that their bodies met, mouths pressed together in a kiss. Sokka’s lips were softer than Zuko had imagined, his mouth was hotter. And his hands were more overwhelming; Sokka had always shown casual affection with them, but as his right hand still clutching fabric of Zuko’s shirt as if Zuko wasn’t close enough, and his left weaving up Zuko’s back to the base of his neck, Zuko could only be shocked at the fact he was experiencing them in this way. Zuko shuddered at Sokka’s touches and made some kind of sound he didn’t have the mental ability to categorize. In response, Sokka licked the roof of Zuko’s mouth causing Zuko to quiver; it probably was a form of approval, but as long as he kept doing things like that, Zuko didn’t give a shit what it was for.

Fuck the balcony, Zuko decided. Sokka’s mouth was Zuko’s new favorite place.

By the time Sokka pulled back, Zuko was winded, making him almost thankful for the loss of contact. But then, Sokka’s breath was on Zuko’s neck, and it was back to Zuko’s hitching. Now he understood how Sokka was so distracted by this while painting. And he might have apologized if he didn’t get the sense Sokka was doing this as an act of retaliation.

“Zuko,” Sokka panted somewhere near his ear, making Zuko shiver. “Zuko, tell me, how long have you wanted that?”

He wanted to hide in Sokka’s chest, but couldn’t. “Spirits, I don’t know. When I broke up with Mai? Maybe even before. I think I liked you before I even knew I could.”

Zuko felt Sokka’s breath hitch. “I’ve liked you for years. This all seems fake—”

“It’s not.”

Part of it was for Sokka, but a lot of Zuko's response was for him, too. How was he supposed to believe that Sokka with his luminous smile and caring disposition and accidental beauty wanted him? All he knew was that this was too perfect, so he was going to figure out whatever it was that made Sokka fall for him, then repeat it every damn day so there wasn't a future without Sokka's mouth, Sokka's words, Sokka's love.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr! url is in my bio :)


End file.
